In ancient times, there was a gift given by one who could not retract it—such a gift could not be taken away by anyone else. Among the noble chiefs of the twice-born, a mighty-armed one was urged to grant a boon. “Give, O lord of the Daityas,” they said, “for you cannot protect more than this.” So, the lord of the Daityas gave to the chief of the twice-born three steps, and at that moment, he took nothing else. Then, the infinite power assumed the form of Trivikrama, ready to stride. With his vast steps, he seized the earth, along with its mountains and oceans, adorned with cities and treasures. With his second step, the god, desiring what is dear to the gods, swiftly seized it in order. Trivikrama, the blessed one, fell upon the earth with a body as immense as Mount Meru. A pit thirty thousand yojanas deep was made firm in the earth, and he poured down a rain of sand to fill that pit. All the gods then attained the three worlds and were free from trouble. Assuming the form of Kālindī, Trivikrama vanished right there. In that sacred hermitage, the son of the king of the Daityas approached the great sage, who was endowed with virtue. After observing a single night of fasting, he went to the mountain where the emblem was divided. Again, after a night of fasting, he proceeded to the holy place called Kedara. He stayed for seven days and then went to Kubjamra. There, having bathed at the excellent holy place, fasting and with his senses controlled, he worshipped Hrishikesha and journeyed to the hermitage of Badarika. At the holy place of Varaha, he saw the seat of Garuda and, full of devotion, worshipped it. He saw and worshipped Shiva, then went near the river Vipasha. Fasting, he beheld the supreme Lord on the banks of the Iravati. Through these acts, he attained the highest form and a rare lordly power. He gained incomparable health and unending progeny. Casting off deformity, he achieved beauty and prosperity. O ascetic, as it happened at the beginning of the Treta age, long ago, there was a city named Shakala, renowned as an excellent place. A wealthy, virtuous, and pleasure-loving man lived there, skilled in many scriptures. He was accompanied by a great caravan and possessed various goods for the market. One night, a robber, exceedingly fierce, attacked him. Alone in the desert, he wandered, controlled yet as if mad. In that desert, he found a Shami tree, auspicious and as dear to him as his own self. Then he saw a departed spirit approaching, surrounded by hundreds of other spirits. In front of him rushed spirits with harsh forms, eating lumps of food. Coming near the base of the Shami tree, he saw the merchant’s son. Seated comfortably in the shade, the spirit asked after his welfare and received a reply. “Tell me, from where have you come, and where do you intend to go, O good man? You have arrived safely; you should tell me everything.” The brahmin told everything—his loss of homeland and wealth. Then the lord of the spirits spoke to the merchant’s son as if to his own kinsman: “You will again gain wealth, if fortune’s power is with you. For one whose body is weakened, there is no rise from anxiety.” Thus, the tale unfolds, revealing the interplay of fate, virtue, and divine intervention.